


An Inhaler Is No Longer Needed

by VeryLateTrash



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Angst, Cute, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Multi, Romance, ghost au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-29 21:50:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12639867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryLateTrash/pseuds/VeryLateTrash
Summary: A commission for someone of Tumblr. A fic in which Richie Tozier moves into a house to find it's haunted by a small ghost boy....Friendship then fluffy love.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1   
It was the summer of 1987. Richie Tozier was bounding his way up the stairs to his new room. His family, which consisted only of himself, his father, and his mother, had just moved to the small town of Derry, Maine.  
Now, most kids might be scared of such a big move to an entirely new town, and Richie was one of these kids. He was terrified. An entire new place! New friends to make, new jokes to adapt to the ongoings of Derry, new chicks to spy on!...though that last one might not be so bad. Most kids might try to express that fear; however, Richie hid his anxieties as much as he could with this excessive joke-making.  
He pushed open the door to his assigned room with his shoulder, after the knob didn’t work so well. It almost felt like something was pushing against him. Like it didn’t want him in.  
He shrugged it off as it being a result of the house itself being somewhat of an antique.   
Upon entering the room, he saw it was filled with brown, cardboard boxes overflowing with his belongings, all stacked in neat, little piles of two or three. He ‘hmm’ed and spoke in one of his infamous Voices. Infamous because he was always somehow known for doing them. His Voices were one of Richie’s most notable talents.   
In a Voice which he called, ‘Ol Boy From Down Unda, he commentated as he exaggeratedly walked through the piles of boxes. “See ‘ere, gals and gents, we have a dangerous mission through this ‘ere jungle.” He mimicked that of the great Indiana Jones, whose movie he’d just seen at the theater back with his old friends in, ironically, Indiana.   
“‘Ol Indie’s ‘ere to get the treasure. Ah, and ‘ere the treasure is!” He laughed to himself as he flopped on his bed, already set up by the movers.  
“‘Ome sweet ‘ome,” he said as he crossed his arms underneath his head.  
It was then that Richie heard an odd sound. It was like a low, muffled groan coming through the walls. He dropped the Australian-like Voice to comment, “Someone getting lucky, eh?” He chuckled nervously to himself, the humour once again covering his anxiety.  
He rose slowly to his feet, “Mom? Dad? You home from work, or something?”  
No response except that small, strangled groan again.  
Richie thought he heard it coming from inside his closet, but that’s kinda weird, isn’t it? What would be in his closet?  
Either way, he shrugged and opened the closet door.   
“Ah, what the fuck?!” Rich practically screeched at what he saw.   
Inside the dark, slightly damp closet, he saw what appeared to be a small child or something wearing a sheet over their head.  
“Dude, what? We have kids up in this place? What are you doing here with a sheet over you?”  
Arms seemed to be pressing against the fabric, which he soon realized was his own sheets.  
“Ugh, at least use your own sheets, man. That’s, like, a rule in the pranking code!” To further add to the point, Richie decided to yank off the sheets of the kid.  
His eyes bugged, “Holy pigfucker, where’s your body, kid?”  
If he squinted, Rich could only barely make out the outline of a boy about a head shorter than himself.  
Richie wasn’t exactly ever a believer in the paranormal; he always played off any stories his old friends told him as a conspiracy theory against the government, or some shit like that, if only to calm himself and his friends. That group had somehow looked to him as a sort of guide, even though he never knew what to do, either.  
So, naturally, he said the first sarcastic comment that rolled off his tongue, “What? Ya cover yourself in powdered donuts? Tsk, weird. Well, whatever gets your motor running, I guess. You know, I know this guy who liked to read stuff about, like, He-Man, and somehow he got off on it. I thought he was a bit of a freakshow myself, but-hey, who am I to judge?” he snorted, “Especially since I’m-”  
“Oh my God, do you ever shut up?!”  
Richie stared at the almost transparent boy in front of him, immediately shutting his mouth at the boy’s outburst of annoyance at him.  
He crossed his arms, “Urgh! C’mon, be scared! Boo!” He wiggled his fingers to emphasize his supposed scariness.   
Richie raised his eyebrow, then looked down, and saw that the boy wasn’t standing anymore; he was floating.  
Rich’s eyes bugged. Once again, he didn’t believe in the paranormal whatsoever, but this was pretty damn convincing.  
Rich’s mouth involuntarily dropped open, “Um, you’re floating, dude.”  
One of his eyes twitched, and Rich noticed his shoulders slumped a little, “Yeah, I realized. Thanks.” It was a sarcastic statement in words, but his tone wasn’t showing it. If anything, he sounded disappointed in himself.  
Was this some sort of wacked out dream? Did I fall asleep as soon as I reached my bed earlier? It was a pretty long ride from Indiana yesterday....,Rich thought, confused and a bit fearful.  
“You’re not dreaming,” the ghost boy said, “I’m a ghost. An obviously unscary one.”  
Rich snapped out of his thoughts, “Hey, no, you’re scary!” Rich used a quavering, higher-pitched Voice that he thought sounded a bit like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, “O-Oh, jeez, man! I-I can’t take it! Please, d-don’t hurt me!” Rich used his arms to cover the top of his head in an attempt to look like he was trying to hide.  
A short, not-quite-bitter, not-quite-carefree laugh escaped from the smaller boy, “How convincing.”  
Richie felt an odd sense of pride at being able to make a ghost laugh. Sure, this was probably one of the scariest moments in his life, but he was honestly enjoying himself for the first time since he learned he had to leave his old group of friends.  
He beamed, and, feeling a strange burst of confidence, he stuck his hand out to the ghost and said in his normal voice, “Name’s Richie. You?”  
The ghost began to reach out his hand out of what was perhaps impulse, then pulled it back, shuffled thoughtfully for a beat or two, then decided to go ahead and shake Rich’s hand, “Eddie Kaspbrak.”  
Rich honestly thought that he’d feel the other boy’s hand, but grasped nothing but air.  
He looked up from his hand to see that Eddie’s small smile had fallen, “Oh yeah, I forget about that sometimes.”  
Rich rubbed his forearm a little, feeling the air around them become awkward.   
“Richie! Come down to help unpack!” He heard his mother call him from downstairs.  
“That’s my mom. I, uh, see you later, okay?”  
Eddie’s voice was small and weak, “Yeah, okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Richie woke up the next morning completely certain that his paranormal experience was just a dream.  
After all, ghosts weren’t real.  
He had school that day, and though he wanted desperately to fight waking up, getting dressed, and doing all that jizz, he eventually did it.  
Rich stumbled tiredly through the maze of boxes he’d yet to sort through and put up to find his closet, where he knew at least some clothes had been thrown into.  
Richie yelped at seeing the ghost boy, shit what was his name, Eddie!, sitting on the floor of his closet.  
“Jesus, dude! You’re real and right in my way!”  
Eddie looked up at him with a tired expression, “Oh, sorry that I’m in the closet of my old house.”  
Richie, somewhat involuntarily, stuck his tongue out at the ghost. “Well, jeez, Eds, can’t pick where my parents chose to move to this time!”  
The ghost scrunched his pale nose up, “Eds? Really? I don’t like that. Don’t call me that.”  
Rich shrugged, a bit of a grin crossing his features, “Sorry, Edward, but I have to find some clothes.”  
Eddie got up and allowed Rich to access his clothing. Rich looked at him, “You gonna leave so I can get dressed?”  
Eddie gave him an exhausted look, “What? Just ‘cause I’m dead, you think you can boss me around?”  
Richie held up his hands in mock surrender...or actual surrender, he wasn’t sure himself. “Okay, then. I’ll just go the bathroom.”  
Rich opened the door to his room, stepping a foot out into the hall before he was stopped by Eddie’s voice, “I’m sorry. It’s just, I sorta can’t leave this room.”  
Rich’s head turned back to face the ghost, gave him a small, questioning tilt of his head, “Say what?”  
Eddie twiddled his pale thumbs around. He sighed, then rubbed the palms of his hands over his face, “It’s this stupid rule. Since I had so many ties here, I have to stay here.”  
The vague statement just made Richie more confused and curious, “Like, what do you mean?” His alarm went off again as soon as he got the question out. Rich groaned, “Gimme a second to get dressed.”  
As quickly as he could, Rich shuffled to the small bathroom on his end of the house. That’s right, his end. His parents shared a room downstairs and adjacent from where his room was, so he practically owned the top floor.  
Rich threw on a pair of knee-length shorts, a shirt, and to top it off, one of his Hawaiian-style shirts that he loved. With disgust toward the pastey stuff on his toothbrush, he brushed his teeth.  
Rich looked at his watch and cursed. He had only a couple of minutes remaining until he had to start riding his bike to the school his mom showed him the previous morning.  
He flattened the waves of his hair down a little with his hands, and poked his head into his room. He used what he thought was a pretty on-point Brooklyn Voice, “Say, ya listen ‘ere, ghost boi. I gotts to get to school, ya feel me? Talk to yas lata’.”  
Eddie just stared at him, “Okay…? Is the accent really necessary?”  
“As necessary as the air I breathe, eh?” He winked, playfully, and retracted his head from inside the door. Rich smiled to himself, happy to have already made a friend before even reaching school.  
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The alarm on his watch went off again. “Jesus. Why’d I ever set this thing to go off every five damn minutes?”  
With that, he rushed downstairs and hopped on his bike, a shiny red colour that flashed in the August sun.  
He biked his way to school.


	3. Chapter 3

Rich found that school in Maine was just as dull as school in Indiana. His fifth grade teacher bored him to no end, what with her endless, non-committal drone of math lessons for the first three hours of school.  
When the bell rang, (it, too, was eerily similar to that of the bell back at his old school), he tried his best to run as quickly as he could to the cafeteria. He wondered if the school here was the same, as well.  
He wasn’t able to get from Mrs. Douglas’ class to the cafeteria near as fast as he wanted, however. He was held back by some way-too-tall guy with a shitty mullet right outside of the double doors leading to his desired place.  
“Hey, treetrunks, I’m trying to get some grub, you feel? So, can you let me through?”  
The tall fucker just pushed him back. Richie was already off-balance, so he fell down without much of a push. His glasses slid off his nose and landed with a quiet clatter onto the floor a few feet away from him.  
“I’m watching you, four eyes.” The asswipe left, probably because he wanted food as much as Richie did.  
Richie’s uncontrollable tongue spat out an insult just as the doors shut behind the kid, “Four eyes. How original. Sure you used all two of your brain cells to come up with that one!”  
Richie’s wrist hurt a bit, due to the way he landed on his left hand. He squinted, looking around him to try and find exactly where his glasses how landed. The hall was a blur to him.  
“Y-You n-nuh-need these?”  
Rich looked up to see a pale-faced blur in front of him, holding what he could recognize as his glasses out to him.  
Rich did his best country Voice, “Why thanks to ya, sir! Thanks a lots, m’sir!” He slid his glasses up his nose with his thumb, disheartened to feel the crack forming on the nosepiece. He’d have to fix that once he got home; hopefully, his mother wouldn’t see they’d broken again.  
Back in Indiana, Rich had dealt with bullies. His friend group back home was constantly pushed around for being nerdy and scrawny. Was it such a tragedy they enjoyed playing a bit of D&D for six hours straight...well, maybe it was. But, that’s besides the point.  
Rich could open his eyes wider now to examine the kids in front of him. The boy that’d given him his glasses stood up straight now, and Richie could tell he was taller than the others in the group, including himself. He’d noticed that, along with his apparent stutter, and the fact that his eyes were exceptionally blue.  
Another boy stood beside him, also exceptionally tall. Curly hair and a fairly deadpan expression.   
The only other kid was a shorter, chubbier boy holding a few books close to his chest. He wore a large sweater, despite the fact that it was in the 80s outside.   
The one in the middle that’d given him his glasses held a hand out to Richie, who’d gladly accepted it and lifted himself to his feet.  
Using his natural voice, Richie inquired of them, “So, lads, what do I call ya?”  
The tall boy in the middle introduced himself, “I’m B-B-B-...” He sighed, frustrated.  
The curly-haired kid to his right cut in, “He’s Bill. I’m Stan, and that-” he pointed to the boy on the other side of Bill, “is Ben.”  
Ben piped up after being mentioned, “What’s your name?”  
Rich stuck both his hands out, the left ontop of the right, waiting for a couple of people to shake them, “Name’s Richie Tozier, the one and only. I come all the way from the far state of Indiana. Gotta say, I don’t see much of a difference, not the in great span of it all. No, I don-”  
Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m getting a migraine.”  
Bill laughed a bit at that, followed by Ben, then Richie, then Stan himself.  
Bill decided it was time for them to go get lunch. He wordlessly opened the door and went inside, and the two others followed him as if doing so was normal protocol.   
Richie was a tad bit hesitant to follow, though he was, indeed, very hungry. A bigger part of him, (bigger than he wanted it to be, at least,), felt a twinge of anxiety at just forcing his way into this seemingly closely-knit group.   
“You coming, Richie?”,Ben asked him in a voice that Richie now realized was unusually quieter than others.  
Rich couldn’t help the grin that overwhelmed his features, nor did he want to. “Yeah, I’m coming."


	4. Chapter 4

After the rest of the school day was over, Richie walked out of Mrs. Douglas’ class with Stanley, who he’d realized after coming back from lunch shared the class with him. Richie just hadn’t paid attention to the near-silent boy when he’d first arrived.  
Stan led him to where he and the others always meet up after school went out. There, he met another member of their group, or club, as they tended to use when addressing it. Richie felt his eyebrows quirk up a little when he saw that they were, in fact, a girl.   
She had long, firey hair that was worn in a loose pony tail. Her eyes were half-lidded, yet shone a bright greenish-blue. She wore a fairly plain-looking dress, but yowza! yowza! yowza!, did it look good. She smiled and introduced herself with a shake of the head, “Name’s Beverly.”  
Richie flashed a grin back at her, “‘Sup, Bev, name’s Destiny, and I believe you haven’t met me before.” He wriggled his eyebrows, causing a laugh to erupt from her.  
Rich noticed Ben had moved closer to Beverly as Rich was joking with her, and he had to hold his tongue back with sheer will to not embarrass the boy by pointing out his clear crush.  
They joked around for a minute or two. Bill tried to explain to Beverly how they’d met Richie, failed due to his stutter becoming more than he can bear today, and Stan eventually took over again.  
Bev rolled her jade eyes and crossed her arms, “Henry Bowers. Such a dick.”  
Richie grinned at the use of this word, “Yeah.”  
Another kid rolled up beside the group on his bike. He was black, wore a short-sleeved white t-shirt and jeans, and spoke with a voice Rich immediately decided he liked, “Hey, guys.”  
Stan greeted him first, “Hi, Mike.”  
The others said their hellos to him, and once again, Richie was introduced, this time by Ben.  
Rich’s wristwatch gave off a loud, beep beep!, signaling that it was about time to head on home. “I’ve gotta go home, or my mom will have my ass. See you guys around.” Rich shot finger guns at the group, and winked over to Bev, who just rolled her eyes at him, playfully.  
Rich rode his bike up to his new house, standing up on his bike for most of the ride. He took a sharp turn down a street he didn’t go down on the way to school. It was his goal to have explored every street in this small town by the end of the week.  
“Oof,” Richie spoke aloud to himself, “what a crackhouse.” He chuckled a bit, eyeing how run down the place looked. “That guy Henry would probably live in here and call it a mansion.” His giggles grew louder, as he imagined the mullet-wearing jerk reclining in a hammock attached to the twisted tree in the front yard.   
He’d use the broken glass bottles that littered the yard to pick the meat of a dead cat from his snaggled, yellow teeth. Snaggled just like the glass in the broken windows and the falling boards of the house.  
Richie threw his head back, cackling hard and loud at such a mental image. He hardly realized that someone was cackling along with him.  
An alluringly strange voice laughed, “What a funny image, Richie! Tell me more! Come inside and tell me more!”  
Rich’s mouth clamped shut. A shiver ran down his spine. He looked around, whipping his head back and forth with a serious kind of fear that was almost choking him. He didn’t know what he was afraid of, but he felt that he should be running away from that voice.  
That eery voice.  
He turned his head so hard that his glasses, which were already on the edge of his nose, fell to the ground.  
“Shit!” Richie cursed, getting off his bike to squint at the ground, still wanting to know the source of that voice so he could ride far away from it.  
He couldn’t see for shit. Eventually, regretfully, he got on his hands and knees and felt for his glasses.   
“You need these?” They were the same words Bill had said to him earlier before handing him his glasses, and that even kinda sounds like Bill’s voice.  
He looked up, expecting to see the stuttering boy. Instead, he was met with a snarling, dripping wet nose. The jowls, the jowls were hairy. The eyes were animalistic and pure yellow, with pinpoints for pupils.  
Richie’s scream was strangled, high-pitched and desperate. He scrambled to his feet, leaving behind his glasses for the moment and throwing a leg over his bike.  
The wolf-man opened his mouth to show rows upon rows of teeth. It smiled in a way that werewolves shouldn’t be able to smile. “What’s wrong, Richie? Don’t you want to float?”  
Richie screamed in utter terror as the wolf’s claws gripped the handles of his bike over Richie’s own hands, bending the bars with a strength not even Henry Bowers possessed.  
Richie cried out in pain, feeling the claws as they sunk into his knuckles, but at the same time pushing the pain to the back of his mind; instead he thought of getting the hell out of there. Away from it.  
The wolfman leaned close to his face, close enough that Richie could feel, (and smell), the wolf’s breath on his face, as it spoke, “You’ll float, too! Yes, you will! We all float down here! We do! And, you know who floats, Richie?!” The wolf’s jowls shifted. It’s lip hair retracted into its face, replaced instead by two red lips that curved into a large smile. Its face became a ghostly white and its eyes turned into a deep, deep red, the yellow still where the white should be and the pupils large, dilated. Only its claws that ripped into Richie’s skin remained the same.   
It leaned in even closer, “Eddie floats! Yes, he does! He floats down here!”  
Richie was beyond terrified and confused. Werewolves. Clowns. His greatest fears telling him that some ghost kid that he’d just met floats?  
He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would make it go away. It was just a hallucination; it had to be. Nice, even kinda cute ghost boys he could believe existed. But, whatever this was? No, it couldn’t be real.  
“Oh, I’m real, Rich. I’m very real.”  
That was the last thing he’d heard the wereclown say. The pressure on his hands was gone, and when he opened his eyes, it was gone.  
Richie breathed, “Holy shit.”


	5. Chapter 5

After his encounter with whatever the fuck that was, Richie raced home.  
Luckily, he’d remembered to grab his glasses. Unluckily, they were even more cracked on the nosepiece than when they were at school.   
He had to fold them carefully and put them on the front of his shirt, lest they fall off his nose again and break more.  
He made it safely home, though he was exceptionally late.  
His mother, who’d apparently been sitting on the porch waiting for him, rushed to Richie while he was putting up his bike.  
Richie flinched, expecting to be scolded for being so late, as well as for not wearing his glasses. Instead, his mother gave him a quick hug, then pulled back, her hands on his narrow shoulders, “Where have you been?”  
He lied through his teeth, trying to avoid eye contact if at all possible. His eyes would give his lie away. “I, uh, sorta got lost; forgot my route from school. Sorry, Mom.”  
She pursed her lips, probably deciding on whether or not to believe him. She must have accepted his story as the truth, because she gave him a curt nod, patted him on the back once, and said, “Go on upstairs and get cleaned up, then.”  
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until a sigh of relief escaped him. He bounded up the stairs with as much energy he could muster after all that had happened to him in one single day.  
He skipped the shower, because, honestly, standing while the pressure of the water beat down on his head did not sound like fun for someone as tired as he.  
His first friend, the ghost, was sitting on his bed. Well, not exactly sitting, Richie knew, he couldn’t truly touch it. Richie’s eyes lingered on the area where Eddie’s barely outlined crossed legs was floating just above the sheets on his bed.  
Floating.  
That voice echoed in his active mind. You know who floats, Richie? Eddie floats! Yes, he does!  
Eddie had been holding his face in his hands, obviously bored with the book he was reading. Richie wondered why Eddie could hold onto the book when he couldn’t touch Richie earlier. “You look like trash.”  
Richie gave a little smile, “Best compliment in a while, thanks.” The words were sarcastic, but it didn’t quite show in his tone.  
Eddie rolled his eyes, which, Richie noticed, were a darker type of grey than the rest of his pale form. They must have been a really dark colour when he was living. “What happened to you?”  
Richie played off the pain in his knuckles and the slight headache that had formed in his temples. He walked with confidence over to his bed, sitting beside the ghost, “Just got the ladies fawning all over me. They roughed each other up so much, fighting over me, y’know? I got secondhand hurt from it.” He flashed Eddie a bright grin.  
He could tell Eddie noticed the waver in his smile. “Cut the crap, Tozier.” His hard-pursed lips loosened up a little, his expression softening just a bit, “It was Bowers, wasn’t it? Henry?”  
Richie could lie to just about everyone. It didn’t really matter; most of his lies were made for a good reason, anyway. Hell, he’d just lied to his mother not five minutes ago without second thought, but...something about the way this kid was staring him down-stern, but also...comforting…? He couldn’t do it.  
“I...Yeah, Henry was part of it, yeah. He roughed me up a little, probably because I’m the new kid.”  
Eddie dipped his head down a little, nodding, “Yeah.”  
Richie couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth, “But, uh, on my ride home…”   
Eddie quirked his head to show he was listening.  
“I, uh, I saw this thing. Weird fucker, weirder than seeing you.” He laughed a little, “No offense.” He went back to telling his story, “It was a...werewolf, I think. But, it was also a-”  
“A clown?” Eddie’s words were rushed, a bit slurred and higher-pitched than usual.  
Richie froze, shifting his gaze to meet Eddie’s once dark eyes, “Yeah.”  
Eddie bit his lip, “So, It was a werewolf for you.”  
Richie furrowed his brow, “You know this thing?”  
Eddie nodded slowly, a strange, contemplative look in his eyes, “Yeah. It was a leper for me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his temples as if re-seeing whatever this thing was, “It-It changes shape. My friend, Bill, thought It somewhat feasted on fear, and It changed to whatever you fear the most, so that It could make you even more scared of It.”  
A few moments passed while Richie was trying to fully comprehend all the information that was being thrown at him.  
Richie considered asking Eddie a thousand questions, all dealing with that thing he’d seen, some he thought was way too personal, considering they’d only known each other for a couple of days. He finally settled on one question he thought was safe enough to ask, “You mentioned someone named Bill?”  
Eddie’s eyes lit up, in the way one would when recalling an old crush or personal hero, or both. “Yeah. Bill was my first ever friend. I don’t remember much, just certain stand out things, but Bill is one of them. He was always so confident; always knew what to do. He did have a stutter, but other than that he was perf-”  
“Does he have, like, suuuper blue eyes, and is, like, really tall?” Richie interrupted Eddie with enthusiasm as he realized they could very well be talking about the same person.  
Eddie looked a bit startled, “W-Well, yeah, much taller than me, at least.”  
“I know the guy! I met him today at school,” Richie explained, a smile filling up his entire face.  
If Eddie had a heartbeat, it’d be pounding against his chest, pulse thundering in his left wrist. “Really? Was everyone else with him?”  
Richie had to think back to all of their names, “There was, um, Stan, Ben, a girl named….Bev! Oh, and another guy who doesn’t seem to go to the same school, or something.”  
“Mike,” Eddie whispered. He seemed to be on the verge of tears, yet he was smiling happily.   
At least he’s not thinking about that thing anymore, Richie considered. I don’t want to dig up too much of whatever the fuck just happened. Not yet, anyway.  
“Did It do that?” Eddie was looking at the scars, still bleeding, on his knuckles. Richie, for a moment, pondered as to how his mother hadn’t noticed them, but he shook away the thought to the fact that she might have been too distracted asking him where he’d been.  
“Yeah. It did.”  
Eddie held up a finger, as if to say: Wait a minute. He left to go back to the closet, floating,(there was no better word Richie could think of to describe the action), up to the shelf above the coat rack. Eddie pulled down a First-Aid kit and brought it to the bed.  
“Hold out your hands.” Richie did as told, holding his hands out to Eddie, knuckles up. Eddie carefully picked out what he needed from the box. “I, um, I had this first-aid kit back when I lived here. Noone moved it, thankfully.”  
Richie just nodded as he watched Eddie slowly pour a bit of alcohol onto a cotton ball, just enough to clean a wound, but not too much, Eddie explained, that’d render the cotton ball useless.  
Richie winced a little as the liquid was dabbed onto his open wounds, burning his hands as it disinfected them.  
Eddie then wrapped some bandages around each of his knuckles. Richie noticed Eddie tried his best to always remain contact with the bandages rather than with Richie. He knew it was because of the fact that for whatever the reason, Eddie couldn’t make real contact with him.  
When he was done, Eddie put the medical supplies back into the kit’s box and set it to the side.  
Richie flexed his hands open and closed, smiling, “Thanks, you’re pretty good at that! Say, can you fix my glasses, too?”  
Eddie smiled back a little, “Maybe, I don’t know.” He took the broken glasses from Richie.  
Some time passed, spent in comfortable silence as Rich watched Eddie try to fill in the crack on his nosepiece with glue. They were handed back to him, and for the first time since he got home, Richie could see again.  
Richie thanked the ghost with another large, ear to ear grin, not knowing any other way to show his appreciation. Eddie didn’t return the smile, though. He seemed to be considering something. What he was thinking about; however, was unclear.  
It took Eddie a while to say what was on his mind.  
“Hey, um, Richie?” Eddie spoke with a bit of trepidation, his eyes cast downward. The position of his shoulders, held high and pulled together, showed how nervous he seemed to be to say whatever he was going to say.  
Richie almost did what he’d usually do with anyone else, be it stranger or friend. That is, give them a friendly side-hug. Until he remembered that any attempt at contact would be lost on the ghost.  
Instead, Richie just tilted his head, “What’s up, buttercup?”  
Could ghosts blush? Because Richie would’ve sworn to the Christ child that Eddie’s translucent cheeks held a dark grey on them after Richie used the not-quite-nickname.   
“C-Could you, um, maybe tell them about me? I would have myself, but-”  
“But, you’re stuck in here.” Richie nodded, showing a serious understanding of his friend’s situation, be it a strange one. Richie made an attempt to lighten the mood considerably by doing a British-sounding Voice, “Right-o, good chap! I’ll fix that up for you right away!” To fully show his character, Rich mimed tipping his hat to Eddie, and grinned whole-heartedly.  
Now he was sure of it.   
Ghosts can blush.


	6. Chapter 6

Richie sat with his new group of friends in the very back corner of the cafeteria.  
Throughout lunch, throughout the rest of his class period with Stan, throughout the entire day, really, he contemplated more on how he’d do as Eddie requested of him.  
How would he tell them that their friend is somehow talking to him, somehow existing, somehow among the living.   
From what Eddie told him, from the look in the boy’s eyes, he’d been close with these people. Probably closer than he’d ever been with anybody else.  
Richie just didn’t know how to start a conversation like this without sounding completely insane. He knew if Jane or Will or any of his back in Indiana heard him talking about this stuff, they’d believe him immediately, because frankly, it wasn’t in his nature to make claims about the supernatural. He didn’t believe in witches, or goblins, or ghosts , or anything else other kids seemed to believe in. For the longest time, that is.  
Until he moved here, that is.  
But, these kids, these people, didn’t know him that well.   
However, another voice said in his mind, a much more logical voice, if Eddie remembers correctly all that he was saying, these guys have seen that thing that attacked him in front of that crackhouse. They wouldn’t have any problem believing him if that were the case.  
The second voice’s argument eventually won.   
After school let out, once Mike and Bev had met up with the rest of them, Richie started fulfilling his promise to Eddie.  
“So,” he began somewhat carefully, not sure how to word such a weird statement, then his ever-traitorous tongue betrayed him once more, “so, I heard your friend, Eddie, died.”  
If looks could kill, Richie would be a pile of ashes some poor janitor had to clean off the sidewalk.  
Beverly’s bright eyes went from lidded to narrowed, “What?”  
Bill frowned, “Wh-Wh-Who told y-y-you th-that?”  
This time, he made sure to make eye contact with each and every one of them, so that they knew he wasn’t lying, “Eddie did.”  
Their faces ranged from Ben and Mike’s soft, sad expressions, to Bill and Bev’s confused and somewhat believing ones, to Stanley’s deadpan, hurt one.  
“He’s lying,” Stan said in his hoarse, cracking voice, “He probably heard that from someone around the school. Making fun of us, or trying to find out what happened to him.” He sucked in a breath, “I’m not reliving that.”  
Bill frowned, looking straight into Richie’s eyes in a way that could unnerve any adult. “A-Are you t-telling the t-tr-tru…” He set his jaw, “The truth?”  
Richie had difficulty maintaining eye contact with the boy who had the eyes of someone much older. Someone who’d seen things that others wouldn’t even begin to see in their lifetime. “It is. I swear.”  
He expected more of a surprised gasp, some sort of suspicion that that couldn’t possibly be true, because, hellooo, ghosts don’t exist. He didn’t get that, at all.  
Eventually, Bev asked, “What’d he look like? Was...was there blood? Was his arm missing?”  
Richie felt incredibly small as he was being stared down by the five of them. “No, nothing like that. More l-”  
“Were there any...any orange pompoms?” Stan croaked out, his eyes fluttering back and forth wildly.  
Rich furrowed his brow, wanting to somehow alleiviate this conversation with humour, but wasn’t able to find the words. “No? That’s weird. No. He was just your regular run-of-the-mill ghost, y’know? He was transparent and-and,” Richie tried to find the right words, “-and he floated.”  
Stan let out a low, scared-sounding groan.  
Bill hushed him in a way that definitely enforced the idea in Richie’s mind that Bill was the leader. Bill turned back to Richie, “Can we talk to him, too?”  
Richie swallowed the lump in his throat, “I mean, we’ll see, I guess.” He tried to smile, but the heaviness of the situation forced him to just go on and lead them to his house without much joking around.  
Richie purposefully avoided Neibolt street, instead taking a path he’d found out was considered much safer by most of the Losers.  
Richie quickly called to his mom in the living room that he had friends over. She just responded with a quick and curt, “Okay.”  
They went upstairs. On their faces was a mixture of anticipation and confusion.  
“Guys,” Richie heard Mike say, “This was Eddie’s old place. His mom just sold it?”  
Bill nodded, “Y-Yeah. Sh-She left after Eh-Eddie d-d-d-..”  
“After Eddie died,” Beverly whispered.  
Richie frowned. He hoped they wouldn’t see this as too sad, rather something more joyful. They’d get to see their friend again after so long. Shouldn’t they be happy? Richie wasn’t sure.  
Richie held the door open for them, closing it carefully after they were all in his room. To be sure his parents wouldn’t barge in, (though he knew they wouldn’t), he locked it.  
Rich looked up to see the five of them looking at him expectantly.   
He felt awkward, and kind of stupid for doing this.  
Rich held up a finger, then opened the door to his closet, and peaked inside. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Eddie sitting inside, his knees pulled to his chest. He wasn’t crazy, at least. This kid was real. Although, this would truly be proven when the others saw him. Spoke to him.  
“Rich, what’s going on?”  
Richie heard a short gasp from one of the people behind him. Apparently Eddie heard it too, because his dark eyes, (Richie decided that if life they had to be either a dark brown or grey, had to be because they’re just so dark now), widened, “You brought them here?”  
Richie wasn’t sure whether Eddie was hurt or happy until a smile broke out on Eddie’s face.  
The ghost crept out of his hiding space, and immediately locked eyes with Bill, whom he still worshipped like the hero Eddie believed he was.   
Richie was amazed Bill was able to hold that powerful eye contact.  
Beverly was the first one able to break the strange hold on them to stand still. She rushed up to Eddie, putting her arms around his back, and squeezing tightly.  
Richie had to look twice to make sure he wasn’t crazy. For a split second, he saw a trace of colour in Eddie’s skintone. His hair, for only an instant, was a dark brown. Then, it faded-no, not faded-it snapped back into the colourless transparency that it was before.  
Another more important realization hit Richie right between the eyes. Beverly was actually holding onto Eddie; she was actually touching him. And, Eddie could touch her.  
Why hadn’t he been able to, but she was?  
It didn’t make any sense.  
Richie watched as the other four gathered around and placed a hand on Eddie in some way. They looked whole, in an odd way.   
Richie felt a bit awkward standing off to the side as the scene unfolded. He saw the Losers let go of each other one by one. Beverly was the last to let go.  
Eddie smiled at his friends, then turned back to Richie. Rich noticed his feet were firmly planted on the ground, rather than hovering above it. That seemed somehow important, but for what reason, Rich wasn’t sure.  
Stan sat down, complaining that his legs hurt from all the walking from the school to Rich’s house, (he had almost called it Eddie’s house, but caught himself mid-sentence).   
They all followed suit. Bill sat beside Stan and Beverly, who had Ben on her other side. Beside Ben was Richie, beside Richie was Eddie, beside him was Mike, who completed the circle of seven.   
Richie felt that in a weird way, this was right. Seven was a powerful number, he’d read somewhere. Seven is strong.  
Eddie looked at him, then at the bandages on his hand, “Shit!”  
Mike looked at Eddie, “What’s wrong?”  
“Did Richie tell you? He was hurt by It!” Eddie blurted it out without much thought.   
Stan’s eyes did that wild, strange look again. He groaned.  
Bill’s expression hardened, “I-It h-hurt you, too?”  
Richie couldn’t find words. He just nodded dumbly.  
Beverly’s gaze was transfixed on something over his shoulder, “What was It for you?”  
Richie swallowed the lump in his throat that had been put there by Bill. He used a Voice that he’d never used before. It just slipped out sounding high-pitched and a bit squeaky, almost like the sounds a train makes when it slams to a sudden halt at finding its tracks weren’t there. Screeching. “A big ‘ol werewolf. Looked like the one from that old movie down at the Aladdin, I Was A Teenage Werewolf.” Richie’s laugh sounded bitingly cold, despite himself. He felt the weird Voice leave him, being replaced by a hoarser version of his own, “It was scarier.” He paused, trying to find the right words, “More real.”  
The rest of the club seemed to understand just what he meant.   
They shared what It was for them. For Stan, It took the shape of dead, drowned boys; for Mike, It was a giant bird that seemed to be from an old Japanese horror movie; for Ben, It was a mummy, old and dried out; for Beverly, she said with a fleeting look, It was her father...only different somehow; for Bill, It was his brother, shouting at him that it was Bill’s fault that he died. That Bill was the one that caught that cold; the one that sent him out by himself in the first place.  
And, of course, Eddie had told Richie that It was a leper for him. “It, uh, It said weird things to me as the leper. Told me that if I gave It a dime, it’d…” He trailed off, made an odd squeezing motion with his hand that, to Richie, looked like he was pressing the button on the top of a small device he was probably dependent on when he was alive. “It asked me if I wanted a, um, a blowjob.”  
Richie let out a laugh involuntarily, and his tongue betrayed him as he said, “Well, why didn’t you take it?”  
The other kids laughed despite themselves, even Eddie, who was shaking his head a little.  
Stan looked at Eddie quizzically, “Y’know, you told us that before, but I always wondered why exactly It offered you that. Like, that’s more funny than scary, isn’t it?”  
Eddie opened his mouth, before shutting it again, “I’d rather not talk about it.”  
Neither Stan nor the others pressed the subject, but the question was an interesting one to Richie. It circled around in his mind for a while, and he decided that he’d have to ask Eddie this another time.  
Soon enough after this, as if some odd force of nature planned for it, the five guests all had to leave for one reason or another. Beverly’s father wanted her to make supper for him, Ben’s mother wanted him home, Stan’s dad apparently called every house phone in the town to see where he was at-he’s supposed to be practicing his Torah reading.  
Richie was left alone with Eddie again. Not exactly a bad thing, Richie thought as he smiled at the ghost, not a bad thing at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Richie laid on his bed, legs crossed, one kicking in the air comfortably. He’d put on a tape of one of his favourite U2 albums; the song ‘With Or Without You’ was playing, and Richie sang along to it with a wide grin on his face.  
Richie saw Eddie sitting cross-legged just above his bed, and decided it was time to maybe get some answers about some of the things floating in his mind. Richie winced at his own use of words. Floating. Eddie floats, too.  
Richie shivered a little, but knew that should be a separate conversation altogether.  
He sat up on his elbows, “So, Eds,” the nickname caused the other boy’s eyes to roll, “Eds, how come you can’t leave?” Richie gestured around the room.  
Eddie’s dark eyes shot up to meet his, “It’s a long story.” Richie noticed how his hand was hovering just above the zipper of his fanny pack, as if this was another habit.  
“I’m all up to long stories.” Richie grinned, showing all his teeth, including the front one which had been chipped in another fight with Henry Bowers.  
The ghost took note upon this, but didn’t comment; instead, he gathered his thoughts. “It...It has to do with exactly how I died.”  
Richie sat up, and Eddie noticed how his ears even seemed to perk up a little. Like a dog when it’s excited. Eddie felt a faint blush start on the tip of his nose.  
Eddie continued, running a hand over his face, “It, um, it’s hard to remember now. And, everyday, it seems-my memories seem-to become fainter and fainter. I don’t know any other dead people, or maybe I could ask if it’s the same way for them, too. Or, if it’s just because of It....” Eddie stopped, shook his head, and continued again, “Anyway, it happened not too long ago, I think. That’s based on the fact that Bill and them aren’t much older than they were when it happened. Um, okay, so...okay.”  
Eddie closed his eyes, a look of concentration on his face. Richie thought that he must be having a hard time of remembering.   
“I guess I should start with telling you that after Bill’s brother died, and we found out that It had been doing it, and after all the stuff It had done to haunt us, Bill decided we should go into It’s lair, which is the house on, um, Neibolt street.  
“So, we drew straws, or something, to see who’d go in there to fight It. We were all terrified; the five of us, anyway. Bill...Bill wasn’t scared at all.” There was a hint of that same admiration in Eddie’s eyes. It always appeared when he talked about Bill, Richie noticed.  
Eddie kept talking, “I went in with Bill. Somehow, we got separated, and It was...It was almost on top of me. My-My arm had broken because I’d fallen, and, um, I couldn’t get away from It. At all.”  
Richie said in a soft voice, “So, It killed you?”  
Eddie laughed, somewhat bitterly, “No. Beverly came in, and we managed to hurt It long enough to get out of the house.” Eddie’s gaze became harder, “It was after we got out, that I died.  
“My mom was beyond furious. Not at me, but at my friends. I remember she, uh, she told me to get in her car, and I guess she was so mad, she wasn’t thinking and threw her purse onto my arm-the broken one. Hurt alot.” Eddie sniffed a little, “So, I stayed in the hospital for a while. My friends weren’t allowed to visit me. After I got out, my mother practically smothered me. I took more pills in those short, few weeks than I’d had...ever.  
“My mom...She didn’t know what I was taking. Some of my medication were gaz-” Eddie laughed at himself, the laugh still bitter, “placebo’s.” He said the word slowly, then continued, “But, I guess the new ones were the real deal.  
“They must’ve been a bad mix because one night, I took them and had a really bad stomach-ache.” Eddie looked at Richie, partially to make sure he was still listening, partially to make sure he was ever even there to listen. “I didn’t wake up the next morning.”  
Eddie shifted his gaze around the different walls in the room, “She practically locked me in here for weeks, trying to protect me. And, I died in here.” He shrugged, “That’s why I can’t leave. At least, that’s my best guess.”  
Sometime while Eddie was talking, Richie had pushed his glasses up to rest on the top of his head. He spoke in his British Voice, “Well, that was quite a doozy.” He laughed for a few moments, and smiled to himself when Eddie joined in.  
“Yeah. It was.” Eddie clasped his hands together, “I’m okay with how everything ended, now that I’ve looked back on it. My mom...she just wanted to protect me.”  
Richie ran a hand through his hair, effectively knocking off his glasses, “Lord, a’missy!” He exclaimed in a Voice that sounded straight out of the deep South, “So, mista Edward, you tellin’ me y’all went ‘nd fought this here clown? ‘Nd he’s still walkin’ ‘round?”  
Eddie sighed, “Unfortunately.”  
Richie grabbed for his glasses, and slid them onto his nose, “Then, how’sa ‘bout we go ‘nd kill ‘im for good?”


	8. Chapter 8

Eddie looked at him as if he were crazy, (which after all he’d seen, Richie wouldn’t completely deny). “Kill him? Are you insane? We can’t...There’s no way...Rich, the last time we went after him, we all almost died! I did die!”  
Richie held up his hands to calm the other boy down, “But, you all didn’t die! I mean, I’m all for staying alive and away from some spoopy-” Did he really just say ‘spoopy’? Man, that’s a new low. “-clown thing, but Ben’s been talking about kids dying left and right.”  
Eddie licked his lips, “That’s....I think….I think Bill said something about going back and killing it after that first time when I broke my arm, but they never did. I guess I’m sorta to blame for that.” Eddie shrugged, “But, it’s better you didn’t. It’s going to destroy you.”  
Richie moved his hand as if to wave the thought away, “Big Bill’s been saying some stuff, too. He apparently read that It’s some sort of shape shifting monster, so there’s a way to kill it. You gotta hit it-” Richie tapped on the side of his head, “-in here.” He went on, “Billy Boy also said that there’s a certain power in number, or something. Seven being the strongest.”  
Eddie quirked his eyebrow, “Well, too bad, ‘cause there’s only six of you.”  
“Ah contraire, mister...something that rhymes with contraire!” Richie spoke in a French Voice that had to be offensive, “We’re going to figure out how to get you outta here!”  
Eddie’s mouth gaped open, “That’s impossible. I wish I could, but…” He shook his head.  
Richie put a careful hand just hovering, (floating), above Eddie’s. He smiled, “We’ll figure it out.”  
If Eddie were alive, his breath would’ve been knocked out of him. He hadn’t grown up to be accustomed to real warmth, real affection. His mother, his teachers, even his friends for some reason treated him as if he were fragile, like he’d break if someone were to really hug him.  
Eddie returned Richie’s grin, and focused his energy on the simple act of pushing his fingers up to touch Richie’s. There it was. That connection.   
Richie’s grin grew until it filled his entire face, “Yowza! How’d you do that? Earlier-”  
Eddie cut him off; the grin turned sheepish, “Ghosts...We can only make contact with people we...It takes a certain amount of energy to...It’s hard to explain.”  
It was actually easy to explain. Eddie just couldn’t bring himself to tell Richie...not yet, anyway.  
“Oh!” Richie’s expression was somehow even brighter, “That’s why you could touch the rest of the Losers, right? They have to be your friends!”  
“Um, yeah. Yeah, that’s it.” That wasn’t it. Eddie loved his friends. He loved them as friends. Maybe that’s why this connection with Richie feels different to him. Is this different…?  
Richie took the opportunity to hug Eddie with full force, “Coolio! That’s one barrier struck down by the mighty Richard Tozier! Next up: Getting Eddie out of his room!”  
Eddie felt a small flutter in his chest, though he wasn’t sure whether it was caused by the the possibility of leaving his personal prison, or if it was because of Richie’s arms, which were still wrapping him up in a warm hug.


	9. Chapter 9

It was Sunday, and Richie’s parents, being Catholic, decided that it was fitting that they should go to Derry’s church. Mind you, there was only one Catholic church; the only other two religious places in town were the Jewish temple, (at which Stanley’s father was the rabbi), and a Methodist one, (where Beverly’s family goes, and where Eddie’s mother used to go), so the Toziers didn’t have much choice on where to attend.  
Richie made exaggerated choking sounds when his mother helped him put on a tie. She rolled her eyes, and, when finished with his tie, lightly hit his head, “Calm down, Richie. Behave in church, especially, alright?”  
Richie smiled a little, as much as he could when she was looking at him so sternly, “Alrighty, Mom.”  
She gave him a small pat on the shoulder, then let him pass her to get in the car.  
On the drive there, Richie stared out the window, zoning out, as he usually did in car drives. His father was the type that didn’t like talking while he drives; he thinks it’s too distracting. Of course, not talking for a prolonged amount of time wasn’t exactly Richie’s strong suit. He drummed his fingers on his bony knees, mouthing the words to some comedy bit he’d seen on television.  
He continued staring out the window mindlessly. Richie noticed there was a group of boys around his age playing baseball, (or a more domesticated version of it).  
He smiled to himself. In the back of Richie’s mind, he thought that he felt the car slowing down, but he didn’t take that thought seriously. His attention was focused on the kids laughing and tossing around a ball, apparently not intending on going to some boring church service today.  
He laughed as silent as he could when one of the boys got hit by the ball and fell. He watched the boy pick up the ball, smile a bit deviously, and pitch it toward the direction of the kid who’d hit him. Richie’s eyes were trained on the baseball. He watched as it went up in the air and soared toward the enemy. It struck him between the eyes and-...and it took his head clean off.  
Richie watched, horror struck as the head was picked up by one of the other boys. This new kid threw it up a little bit, and caught it back in the palm of his hand, as if it were a baseball now. He threw it up a little higher this time, and caught it again. Then, he pitched it to the kid in the middle that was holding a bat.  
The bat struck the victim boy’s head with a sickening ‘crunch’ that Richie would be hearing over and over again in his head for the rest of his time in Derry.  
Just as his eyes had been trained on the killer ball, they were on this boy’s head. It whizzed through the air, and hit the car window right by Richie. He screamed, high-pitched and loud.  
Richie barely felt it when his father slammed on the brakes, causing Richie to hit his head harshly on the seat in front of him, as he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.  
Richie’s father looked back at him as if he had committed a foul sin. “What in God’s name are you screaming about?” Ironically, he was yelling, as well.  
Richie’s whole body seemed to freeze, as if the yelling was causing his muscles to contract. Even his mouth wasn’t able to move. “I...Th-There was a head...It...It flew…” He heard a dull thud, as if something had just slammed its weight against the car. “D-Don’t...Do you hear that?”  
Mr. Tozier’s jaw was clenched harder than Richie had ever seen it. Richie thought that it would take a real good chiropractor to loosen it.  
“What are you talking about, boy?” Richie’s father was not nearly as calm as he usually was. Even when he’d scolded Richie before, he’d always just sat him down and explain to him why what he was doing was wrong. Like when Richie ran around with his friends too late at night back in Indiana. Or, when he shaved the neighbor’s cat.  
Richie’s lip was trembling, “I-I, there was a noise, and the h-head...You didn’t hear it?”  
Richie’s mother turned around in her seat, “No, Richard Michael Tozier, because there was nothing to hear. Now stop making up excuses and tell your father and I why you screamed in the car when we make it clear you shouldn’t.”  
Richie wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, “I don’t know.”  
Richie’s parents just shook their heads in unison, and his father went back to driving, though Richie noticed he gripped the steering wheel tighter.  
Richie heard the thud again, followed by a few taps on the glass, but bit his tongue when he turned his head to look at the window again.  
He saw that clown again, somehow keeping up with the speed of the car, tap tap tapping on the glass, and holding the boy’s head.  
Richie had to clasp his hands over his ears when he heard an impossibly loud, impossibly deep laugh ringing through his head.  
He forced himself to look at the window again, relieved to see that It was gone.  
Richie rested his eyes for a moment, leaning his head against his seat. He put his hand down on the seat, and recoiled instantly when he felt something wet.  
There it was. Sitting right beside him.  
The head.  
And, he could’ve sworn it winked at him.  
When they were parked, Richie got out as quickly as possible, slamming the door shut.  
Richie’s mother put a soft hand on his shoulder, “Honey, you’re crying.” She wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket, “I’m sorry for yelling.”  
He shook his head, and barely croaked out, “I’m fine”, before burying his face in her dress.  
Truth be told, he wasn’t crying because of anything his parents had done. He was just so scared.  
So utterly scared.  
Because his father just picked up his bible, which was right next to the head, practically ontop of it.  
They couldn’t see any of this.  
He hugged his mother tighter.


	10. Chapter 10

Richie invited his newfound friends over to his, (and Eddie’s?), room again.   
Mike and Ben both had brought with them several books on the topic of ghosts and ethereal creatures, hoping to find a) a way to help Eddie cross his physical boundaries, and b) a way to somehow take It down.   
Bill explained what he and some of the others had been discussing, “Y-You see, i-in this b-buh-b-book, it s-says that t-to take down a-a shapeshifter-type m-monster, you have t-to…” His expression was slightly contorted; Richie saw that he was thinking deeply, “I-It’s this weird kind o-of attack with o-our minds.”  
Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed. Richie smiled a little; the ghost had little crinkles in his nose and forehead when he contemplated something.   
“Th-The b-book also says th-there’s a w-weird power in n-numbers.” Bill steadied his gaze. It seemed to pass through them all and focus somewhere far away. “There has to be seven of us.”  
“Yowza, Denbrough! You didn’t stutter at that one!” Richie grinned, and Bill looked at him with an oddly parent-like gaze before falling into a fit of giggles. They all followed suit.  
Stanley seemed to smile the brightest in his own weird way, then managed to bring them all back down to reality, “Guys, I’m still really unsure about this. The…,” he took a moment to lick his lips, which were drying at a faster rate than they should, “We could all die.” His eyes flickered to Eddie for a moment, then down to his feet.  
Mike set a hand on his shoulder, “We could all die by staying up here, too.” Mike gave Stan a reassuring smile, then turned to the rest of the group, (though Richie took into account that his hand remained rested on Stanley), “I think it’s a mutual agreement that it’s better to risk it. Guys, kids are still dying.”  
Bill nodded, “E-Exactly. N-No kid sh-should have t-to end up like-” he didn’t finish, but they all knew what he meant, even Richie. No kid should have to end up like Georgie.  
Ben bit the inside of his cheek, “We should get back to this.” He motioned toward his and Mike’s books.  
Beverly, who’d been quiet until now, spoke up, “Is there a way to help Eddie leave, New on the Block?” She threw Ben a wink.  
Ben blushed a bright pink, and nodded, stammering a bit while he spoke, “According to Mike’s dad’s old book, yes.”  
Eddie perked up, his chin lifting from off his knees. Richie thought he looked like a cat, all perked up and wide-eyed.  
Ben continued, “So, there’s this ritual. We have to, basically, recreate Eddie’s death scene. And...And figure out what he’s holding on to in this room, so he can, like, let go of it. And leave.”  
Ben’s eyes met with everyone else’s in the room, then connected with Eddie’s, “Do you remember what all happened?”  
Eddie bit his bottom lip and chewed on it for a moment; he nodded, “Yeah. Pretty much, anyway.” He paused, his nose scrunching up again, “I can’t think of something that I haven’t let go of, though. I got over it.”  
Mike, who had Stan resting his forehead against his arm, spoke up, “Well, maybe whatever it was will reveal itself.”  
Bill agreed, “We sh-should get st-started, then. Th-The sooner w-we can stop It, the better.”  
Eddie listed off the things that led to his death, most of them being different types of medication, “But, my mom...She kinda had stuff to do with it, you know. And, it’s not like I can just call her, and ask her to do this for me.”  
“The book says if the scene of death involves another person, and that person is unwilling, or otherwise cannot participate, then another person can act out their part.” Ben looked at Beverly, “C-Can you do it?”  
Beverly nodded, giving him that same charming smile Richie new Ben had to adore, “Of course.”  
“Th-Then, I-I’ll go with St-Stan, M-Mike, and Richie t-to the pharmacy. B-Ben and B-Buh-Beverly, y-you start a-arranging things.”  
Richie gave Eddie a salute, “I’ll be right back, ‘ol chap!” He then ran after Bill and the rest of the team, who had started downstairs.   
Richie couldn’t help but wonder if this would really work.   
He wished it would.


	11. Chapter 11

Richie walked back to his house with Bill, Stan, and Mike after going to get an amount of medicine that he thought could supply an entire hospital wing.  
Richie watched Stan and Mike talk together, while Bill was playing with a Rubix cube, probably trying to distract himself.  
It was when Stan started to laugh at something Mike had said that Richie blurted out what had been on his mind, “So, guys, why did Eds’ mom give him all this crap?”  
They looked at him for a moment with hard expressions, before they all looked away, seemingly at once.  
Bill spoke, still fidgeting with his cube, “E-Eddie’s m-mom was…” Bill licked his lips, trying to find the right word.  
“Overprotective,” Stanley finished for him, “She thought if he took a bunch of medication, he’d magically be protected from everything.”  
Richie tilted his head, not quite understanding, “Well, I mean, all parents are a bit protective, right? I just don’t get-”  
Bill’s lip was shaking a little, “N-None of u-us understand it, R-R-Richie. P-Puh-Parents never l-let kids understand wh-what they’re d-doing.”  
Richie dropped the topic at seeing him so upset. Instead, he just started cracking jokes about Stanley’s Ramen noodle hair and Henry Bowers’ mullet.  
They raced up the stairs to Richie’s room, hoping to not catch Richie’s parents’ attention with all the clattering pill bottles they’d stuffed in their bags.  
When Richie opened the door to his room, (he noticed there was absolutely no struggle to open it anymore), he saw Eddie having his face squished by Beverly, who was wearing a waaaay oversized floral-patterened dress and a pair of bifocals on the edge of her nose.  
Stan’s sarcastic mouth was the first one to ask just what they were doing.  
Beverly imitated an older woman by dropping her voice, “I’m just squishing my Eddie bear’s face! Look at my son. So precious.”  
Ben grinned, “Apparently, Eddie bear hid away an old dress of his mother’s.”  
Richie laughed, “And, what about those specs?” He paused, “Eddie bear?”  
“If one more person calls me that, I swear I’m going to hide in the attic for a decade.” Eddie huffed, “And the bifocals are mine.”   
Richie’s grin stretched until it practically filled his entire face. He crossed the room and pinched Eddie’s cheeks, “Cute, cute, cute!”  
Eddie looked both mortified and gleeful at the same time, “Don’t do that!”  
Richie pulled him into a hug, which still felt weird, like he was hugging a gentle mist that was raining just over him. It felt real, enough though Eddie’s form was still practically air. Still somehow warm.  
Richie shook his head, pulling away and putting his hands on his hips, “Right-o! Let’s get to it, shall we?”  
Stanley and Bill dumped out the contents of their bags, medicine spilling all over the floor. Mike was carrying a couple of inhalers. Richie brought snacks for them to eat, “I mean, it’s not necessary, but I like to eat,” he’d backed his decision up in the pharmacy.  
Eddie closed his eyes, taking a moment to remember his dying scene as best as he could, and directed the others where to place various things. “Bev, go outside the door until, um, you feel like coming in and, um, I’ll be here. You tell me to take my meds, I do, and then…” Eddie stopped talking abruptly, “I can’t remember after that.”  
Ben cleared his throat, speaking so quietly it was hard to hear him from two feet away, “Um, the book says i-if you can’t remember, that’s the actual, the actual death.”  
Eddie nodded, “That makes sense.”  
Richie glanced at him not too subtly, seeing a few lines on Eddie’s forehead and underneath his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He looked so tired.   
Ben read out some weird foreign language from his book, fumbling over the alien words.   
Richie’s eyes could’ve filled his entire face when he saw Eddie; he looked like he was in agony. His body was almost glowing, quite literally. If he had a halo, Richie would’ve thought him to be an angel. Though, he was started to think that to be the truth, anyway…  
Richie shook his head at the thought, and focused on Eddie again. He still looked like he was in pain. In fact, he was holding onto his right arm and scrunching up his nose again. The lines under his eyes seemed to deepen.   
Richie’s heart felt like it was aching. He hated to see his friends hurt, and for whatever the reason, it hurt worse to see Eddie like this. He didn’t realize he’d moved closer to Eddie before he felt Bill’s hand on his arm. He stopped, and took a step backward.  
Beverly poked her head into the room, biting her lip nervously, then straightening her back and entering the room. “Eddie, honey?” She spoke with a bit of a quiver in her voice, but tried to hold on to her character as best as she could.  
Eddie seemed to be somewhere else; he seemed to be in the past. He looked up at her, though his eyes were glazed over. Richie shivered.  
Beverly’s hands were shaking as she took out the bottles of medicine Eddie had instructed her to give him. “It’s, uh, it’s time to take your pills, Eddie.”  
Eddie nodded numbly, still gripping his right arm, which was bent at an odd angle. His thin fingers picked up the seemingly endless number of pills and, one-by-one, they were ingested, as they would’ve been on that day, and who knows how many days prior to that.  
Eddie started to cough. Hard. He brought his hand up to his mouth so sudden that it made a smacking noise.  
Richie winced as Eddie’s small chest started to heave. He saw Beverly backing up; the bag she’d used to carry all that medicine to him in fell out of her hand with a thud.  
Stan was covering his eyes, his shoulders hunched up in a defensive state. He wasn’t the only purely uncomfortable one. Mike had an antsy expression on his face and Bill looked like he was going to throw up.  
Eddie stopped coughing. The silence might have been more terrifying that the coughing itself.   
There was a silvery-gold blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.   
All movement, all sound, all breathing, seemed to stop.  
Richie’s heart was pounding, about to burst completely out of his chest.   
He quietly whispered to himself, “C’mon, Eds. C’mon. C’mon!”  
The six of them waited in thoughtful silence, until, finally, a small cough was heard.  
Eddie blinked, and Richie felt his heart rise from the pit it had sunk into again, and burst with a warm kind of feeling.  
Then, it sunk again.  
Eddie’s eyes were filled with tears, and they only poured harder down his cheeks. One slid down his nose and dripped onto his arm, the arm that he had been holding earlier.  
Richie cupped Eddie’s cheeks, “Eds?” Out of the corner of his eye, Richie saw Bill sit by Eddie and start to comfort him, as well.  
Eddie just smiled through his tears, “I just...I-I figured it out. What kept me here.” He met Richie’s eyes.  
Stan raised his eyebrows, “Well?”  
Eddie’s voice was somehow steady despite his emotional state, “My mom. She...Those pills...They weren’t medicine...It wasn’t an accident.” Eddie stood up, and looked at the door, advancing toward it, about to be able to leave through it, “My mom meant to kill me.”


	12. Chapter 12

Richie was the first to move. He raced up to Eddie and reached out to grab Eddie by the arm. “Eds!”  
Eddie furrowed his brows, and turned around to look up at Rich. His stance was defensive, and his eyes flickered downward to Richie’s hand on his arm for a short moment. Eddie brushed Richie’s hand away, “She was always really protective, y’know?” Eddie’s voice was soft, a quiet tremor sneaking its way into the undertone.  
Bill came next after Richie. He thought to close the door, and moved to stand beside Eddie, a hand on his shoulder. Bill-always there to support his friends-Denbrough, Richie deemed him. Bill nodded, not interrupting Eddie, but showing him he was listening.   
Richie admired that of Bill above anything else. He always seemed so confident; so sure of what to say and do to help his friends. Richie started to try and mimic that, but he was sure he failed. After all, Eddie didn’t brush away Bill’s hand.  
Richie did notice, however, that Eddie’s dark eyes remained glued onto his. Eddie frowned deeper, “I-I don’t know. I could be wrong, but...She had a weird look on her face that day. There was something off, y’know?”  
“Well, according to what ya say, she’s always a bit off, right?” The words flooded from Richie’s mouth. He wasn’t sure if they came out as a joke or as serious, but either way, Eddie’s expression fell a little bit more. Richie wished he could somehow eat the words back.  
Stanley, from a few feet behind him, said, “Ah, shut up, Trashmouth.” There was a hint of annoyance in his tone, but not nearly as much as usual. Mike, in a somewhat apologetic voice, spoke after him, “Go on, Eddie.”  
Eddie nodded, and continued, “It was different. She seemed less worried, and more...angry.” Richie saw a certain kind of darkness in Eddie’s eyes. A certain kind of anger mixed with remorse. “She’d been much more forceful with my meds. I got this fuzzy memory of there always being an inhaler in my hand. No matter what.” Eddie sighed, “And, um, I remembered taking it once. It tasted different. A little bit less metallic and artificial than my normal one. And-” Eddie put a hand on his chest, over his lungs, “-I felt different after taking it.”  
Mike cleared his throat, “So, you think that after you broke your arm, she started giving you real medicine?”  
Eddie nodded, “Exactly. She saw that I was actually hurt and got more worried.”  
Beverly shook her head. “But, you said that she meant to kill you. Wasn’t she just trying to protect you?”  
Eddie’s eyes shifted around the room, and yet when he stopped, he rested them back on Richie. “I think at first, she was. Just like always. But, she was desperate, guys. I wasn’t speaking to her. I was mad she wouldn’t let me see you. I remembered her talking to herself outside my door. Telling herself that maybe today...I’d love her again.” Eddie breathed. His eyes started to sting with a few nearing tears. “She thought I was sick in, um, in quite a few ways. I think that after a while, she’d convinced herself that killing me was better than me being sick.” Eddie’s gaze ripped away from Richie’s and fell to the floor.  
Richie saw Bill’s hand again. A powerful gesture. Just resting on Eddie’s shoulder. Comforting him. Richie wanted again to help his friend. He, with more care than he’d ever mustered into doing something, wrapped up Eddie in a hug.   
Richie felt a shorter figure hug him around the waist, resting their chin on his shoulder. Beverly.  
He saw Bill move to hug Eddie around the shoulders. Ben then quickly put an arm around Beverly and a hand on Eddie’s arm. Mike, being taller than most of them, wrapped his arms around the tight knit circle, able to rest a hand on Beverly and Bill’s shoulders if he stretched enough. Stanley rested a neatly trimmed hand on Richie’s head, for whatever reason, somehow comforting him by messing with his curls.   
They said nothing. Eddie’s face was buried in the crook of Richie’s neck, (which Richie blamed on the fact that he was squished in the middle of their circle), and his arms were wrapped around Richie’s waist, (which Richie could blame on nothing).  
Richie heard Eddie’s shuddering sighs. He’d never felt more content in his entire life; he felt safe and happy with his friends.  
Stanley was the first one to let go. One by one, in the order they came, the Losers started to slowly come out of the embrace.   
Richie continued holding the thin mist-like form that was Eddie. Eddie quietly slipped back away from Richie, a thin smile on his face.   
Ben, the soft, sensitive boy he was, wiped away some tears from his cheeks, “So, Eddie, do you think it worked?”  
That strange darkness Richie had seen earlier in Eddie’s eyes was gone now. Instead, his eyes were gleaming with a knowing kind of joy. They rested on the door, and Eddie’s smile grew, “I know something worked.” He opened the door, something Richie could see as a metaphor for everything Eddie had faced in his lifetime. The “few different kinds of sickness” being the majority of them.  
Eddie opened the door, and walked through it.


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as his feet crossed the barrier from his room to the hallway outside it, Eddie felt an intensely warm joy erupt in his chest. It spread like disease to every part of his body, racing up to his face, and bursting through his eyes in the form of fresh tears that rolled down his cheeks, excitedly.  
He turned on his heels to share his excitement with his friends, who’s expressions differed from stunned that it worked to concern.  
Richie held a somewhat proud, and yet soft smile. He was about to say something positive, when Bill spoke, “Y-You realize wh-what this m-muh-means now, right?”  
The Losers turned to look at him, quizzically.   
Bill’s words, though confident, were contradicted with the nervous look in his eyes, “We h-have s-seven, now.” He licked his lips, (Richie thought this was a nervous habit, as Bill’s lips weren’t chapped, and he tended to do it often), “We c-can defeat It now.”  
Stan’s posture immediately slacked. He clenched and unclenched his fist, probably to calm the tension that Richie could see was racking through his body. Mike put an arm around his shoulders, attempting to comfort Stanley, (the attempt was a good one, so it seemed, as the corner of Stan’s mouth stopped its irritated twitching, and his fist was loose).  
Bill saw this, and took his friend’s feelings into account. Of course, Big Bill Denbrough’s priority is to make sure his friends are safe. His first priority has always been Georgie and his friends.   
Richie saw the conflict in Bill’s eyes. Bill set a calm hand on Stan’s shoulder, but his focus was still on the plan that he was formulating in his mind. “St-Stan, I kn-know it’s h-hard to f-fuh-face, but I-I’ve said it b-before: We have to.”  
Richie admired the determination in Bill’s eyes, “I-It’s u-up to us.” Bill’s gaze flickered to meet Beverly’s, who nodded once.   
Mike ruffled Stanley’s hair, giving him a gentle smile, “I believe in you, man.” Stan snorted, “Thanks, Mike.”  
Bill looked at them both, a proud smile directed toward Stan. Richie thought he was like a mom who’s son just passed a hard test in math.   
Bill gave Stan a pat on the back, then addressed the group again, “Now, w-we need a pl-plan. W-We can t-touch on everyone’s a-abilities, and-Eddie?”  
Eddie, who poked his head in through the doorway, replied, “Yeah, Bill?”  
Bill, who was gaining confidence by the second, gave him a half-grin that filled the room and everyone in it with a feeling of security, “I-I think I kn-know how t-to use our gh-ghost against a cl-clown.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this one was extremely short, but I'm almost done with the next chapter, which is much longer. We're so close to the end. Just a few more chapters away.


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